


Ships in the Night

by RyeBread



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Bar/Club, Frotting, Hookups, M/M, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyeBread/pseuds/RyeBread
Summary: Fjord let Beau drag him out for a night even though he has definitely not been moping for the past few weeks. The intent is to spend the requisite amount of time suffering the socialization then go home. She’ll presumably find someone and he’ll be off the hook. It’s a solid plan.





	Ships in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written anything for fandoms for two months and now I crawl out of the woodwork for a new rarepair because they need food. 
> 
> Also this is not safe for work, and I really shouldn’t have to say this since it’s tagged, but if you are not of age to read stuff like this: don’t.

The music is a low, constant thump that beats through Fjord's skull in a way that he knows is going to give him a headache if he has to spend the entire hour he promised Beau here. It's not that he can't... appreciate the culture, but his appreciation extends about as far as it takes for him to to feel sick, and the flashing lights are not doing him any favors. He nurses his drink at their table; at least Beau didn't try to pull anything and actually got him the soda he requested. Forty two minutes to go.

He scans the dance floor, under the pretense of scoping the crowd if Beau happens to be watching him, but mostly he's looking for her to see if she's found someone to take home and he can just excuse himself early. Everyone here looks young--not creepily so, but definitely younger than he is. His heart lifts for a moment when he sees Beau in the process of grinding against a dwarven woman who is definitely her type. She looks about half Fjord's height and just as broad. She's got an undercut that feathers out toward the back, wearing an oversized dress shirt that's open to mid-chest and rolled to her elbows. The lights flashing over their bodies make them look like shifting still-frames, caught every few seconds smiling, or laughing, or—sporadically—trying far too hard to concentrate on their dancing. Unfortunately, Beau looks over as he's watching them just as the current song ends and catches his eye despite the uncomfortable lighting. He tries to wave her off when she tilts her head toward the crowd of bodies, but she's insistent. He mouths, "No," toward her, but he doubts she can see it, or would really care if she could

She leans down to say something in her dance partner's ear. Whatever she says, it gets a laugh out of her and they both step off the floor and toward Fjord. He looks down at his drink when they approach, but only Beau stops at the table, the other woman barking something to Beau that is drowned out by the music. Beau nods, winking, and takes a seat across from Fjord as the woman heads toward the exit. Beau drains the last of her drink before asking, "Having fun yet?"

“Looks like you were," Fjord says, stirring his soda with the little red cocktail straw. "You scare her off with a marriage proposal already?”

“Fuck you," Beau says, flicking the condensation from the glass off her fingers at him. "Keg's gotta smoke real quick. Gives me some time to make sure you're not here stewing in your feelings like an asshole. You telling me nobody here catches your eye?”

“Unfortunately not," Fjord says. "So if you and Ms. Keg-”

“What about the guy that was over here like five minutes ago?" Beau asks, cutting him off. "Kinda twinky, white hair?”

"He was asking where the restrooms were," Fjord says, trying not to let his frustration show.

Beau sighs, "Dude, I've seen you talk to people. I know you could have reeled him into a conversation if you wanted to. Not into twinks?"

"He looked about sixteen," Fjord counters.

“Oh come on, you know this place cards. Like, _actually_ cards. Everyone here is an adult. Maybe he's just part elven.”  
Fjord just hums noncommitally, which gets him a light swat on the arm. "What?" he asks, and if he sounds annoyed, then hopefully she hears it.

“Dude, you know we're friends, right?" Beau waits for the nod. "Good. So since we're friends, I hope you can empathize with me trying to get you to actually put yourself out there tonight. And if you can't do that, then I hope you can at least hold yourself to the promise that you'd actually _try_ to have a good time for a single hour. That means no sucking down glass after glass of soda at the corner table giving me puppy eyes so I'll let you go home early. Seriously, that is such a boner-kill.”

“I'm not-”

Beau clasps her hands together under her chin, giving an exaggerated pout, "Oh, Beau, I'm so miserable, getting drinks on your tab, having to watch a bunch of attractive people on the dance floor, wallowing."

Fjord rolls his eyes, "Your empathy could use some work."

“I feel for you, Fjord, honest, but all I'm asking is an hour. You can go home and finish that cake in our fridge afterward, but—and you know I don't say this a lot—_please_. Please talk to someone, or dance, or just get a real drink.”

Fjord frowns, but this is Beau trying her best to help him out of the slump he's been in for the past few weeks (months). Since the Sabien debacle. Also he finished the last piece of that cake for lunch, so it's not like he actually has that to look forward to. "Fine, fine, I will do at least one of those three things. I think that's your girl coming back in now," Fjord says, looking back toward the entrance where Keg is pushing past the bouncer.

"I'm serious, if you're still here when I get back, you're coming out with me again next week," Beau warns, setting her empty glass on the table. She throws Fjord an 'I'll be watching' hand gesture before meeting Keg halfway to the dance floor. Fjord smiles at the way Keg slings an arm around Beau's waist.

Fjord looks away when they start pushing into the crowd to make a spot for themselves. He’s certainly not going to dance, so that leaves talking to someone or getting a drink. He sucks the watery dregs of the cola through the cocktail straw and looks toward the bar. It’s moderately swamped at the moment, but he figures it won’t be getting any less crowded before his time is up here anyway. He makes his way through the small wave of people that ebb and flow from the floor to the tables to the bar, muttering apologies whenever he makes contact, though nobody seems to notice it. It’s a welcome difference from when he was a kid and it seemed no matter what he did, he caught the worst kinds of attention. It doesn’t feel like relief anymore, though. Being ignored.

By the time he reaches the polished counters, he gives himself a shake to shed the morose shadow clinging to his mood. The bartenders, all three, are milling about with drink orders, and Fjord feels for them enough to just lean against the nearest stool to give them some breathing room. He blames the noise and the lighting on his somehow missing the fact that the stool is in fact occupied. By a Firbolg with hot pink hair and a shiny green shirt, no less. Fjord shakes his head to get his bearings and assure himself he hasn’t finally had a stroke. Then he realizes he a) forgot to apologize for hipchecking the guy and b) missed what he said that alerted him to his presence entirely.

“I’m so sorry,” Fjord says, loud enough to be heard. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I can see that,” the man laughs, swiveling in his chair to get a better look at him. He dabs at the front of his shirt with a napkin, holding a glass bottle over the counter. 

“Shit, did I do that?” Fjord asks, reaching for a napkin. Which leaves him standing there with a napkin held up awkwardly because what, exactly, is he going to do? Wipe the guy’s bottle for him? “Ah. Can I get you another? That was terribly rude of me.”

“It’s no bother,” the man says, “these things happen.”

“Really, I insist,” Fjord says. “What’s your poison?”

The Firbolg looks slowly from Fjord to the bottle in his hand, “Kombucha. It was green tea, but what I’d really like to try is the blueberry ginger.”

Fjord starts to comment on it, then thinks better of it and turns to the bar. He gets a look when he places an order for two kombucha, but this hippie shit is more expensive than beer here, so it’s not like they have anything to complain about. It takes a minute for them to get them from the mini fridge under the counter, and another two minutes to negotiate putting it on the tab Beau’s got going for them, but he manages it. With the two bottles in hand, he turns and almost walks right into the guy again as he’s now standing—all seven plus feet of him. “Gods! Ah, hello, I got you um, your drink.”

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m Caduceus, by the way. Caduceus Clay.”

Fjord hands him the bottle and wipes the condensation off on his pants before reaching to shake Caduceus’ hand. “Fjord. Lovely to meet you, though again, I apologize for bumping into you.”

“Oh, no problem. I even got a free drink out of it,” he says easily, the low rumble of his voice audible above the chaos around them. “I saw you standing there, I just didn’t expect you to move like that I guess.”

Fjord smiles sheepishly. “Clumsy me.”

“Just a little distracted, I think,” Caduceus muses. “It’s very... loud in here.”

“Quite so,” Fjord says. Then it occurs to him that they are in a gay bar, he just bought a guy a drink, and said guy just gave him literally the perfect opportunity to ask if he’d like to step out somewhere quieter. “Um, Caduceus, would you like to go somewhere a little... less loud?”

“That sounds lovely,” he says airily, moving aside to let Fjord lead the way to the exit.

A gust of cool air hits Fjord’s face as he opens the door, the sharp contrast with the body-warmed inside of the club making him inhale sharply. There are only a few other people outside, all of them smoking or standing next to people who are. Caduceus steps out after him, following Fjord to the edge of the patio where they can lean against the metal railings. It takes a moment for Fjord’s ears to stop ringing. “Sorry, this whole scene isn’t my usual fare,” Fjord confesses.

“I know,” Caduceus says. “You’ve got the look of a man out of his element. I thought you could use some air.”

Fjord blinks. “I asked you to—. Never mind. So, what brought you to Hupper’s Dukes tonight?”

Caduceus leans his head back, the wind tussling his hair. His long ears twitch as he closes his eyes. “A friend of mine wanted to, and she asked if I wouldn’t come out with her to make sure she didn’t get into too much trouble.”

“Oh,” Fjord says. “Should I have taken you away, then? I don’t want your friend to be upset with me.” Is this a hint that he’s not gay? He’s only here because his friend is here? Well, those aren’t mutually exclusive, obviously. 

Caduceus shakes his head, eyes half closed. “No, she’ll be alright. Keg’s found someone I think will treat her well tonight.”

Fjord blinks. “Wait.”

“Your friend looks pretty respectable,” he continues.

Fjord laughs, “She can be a little, ah, rough around the edges.”

“I said respectable, not reverent. And Keg can appreciate some roughness, I’m sure. I’m working on being a little less, uh, judgy.” He takes a pull from the bottle and his ears twitch again. “This is some good stuff.”

Fjord pops the top off his bottle and brings it to his mouth, but makes the mistake of smelling it. He wrinkles his nose, coughing. “What is this exactly?”

“Fermented tea,” Caduceus says. “Taste it, honest, it’s good.”

Fjord frowns, but holds his breath and takes a swallow. It’s... not terrible. Really it just tastes like a weird soda. He takes another sip. “Huh.”

“It’s weird, but I like it,” Caduceus says. 

Fjord shrugs. “Yes, I would agree with-“ he starts, then thoroughly embarrasses himself by belching before he can even cover his mouth. He flushes from neck to ear tip, spluttering an apology.

Caduceus waves him off, “You apologize a lot, don’t you? I should have warned you, this stuff can really bring it out of you.”

Fjord mutter noncommittally, face burning.

"So, Fjord," Caduceus says, braced against the railing, looking down at him under heavy lids. "What brought you here tonight?"

"That same friend of mine you saw? This is all her doing, I'm afraid." It's easy to phrase it as a chore rather than an intervention, even if it is unfair to Beau. "She... wanted to get me out of the house," he admits.

"But you wanted to as well," Caduceus says, crossing his ankles absently. 

"I suppose I did."

Caduceus nods, "You didn't look angry, just anxious."

"Am I that obvious?" Fjord asks, trying for levity.

"Well," Caduceus says, pondering. He takes another drink, "Hm. No, not obvious. I think you're just trying a little too hard to be miserable."

Fjord wrinkles his brow, "I beg your pardon?"

Caduceus laughs, a low, rumbling noise deep in his chest. "I meant no offense," he says. "You just have a look about you that says you're not ready to be happy yet."

Lovely, a psychoanalyst. He hasn't had enough of _those_ in his life before now. "I'm not exactly _choosing_ to be unhappy, you know."

"Of course not," Caduceus says, "but you're not happy when you could be."

"Was that a line?" Fjord asks, incredulous.

"Was it?" Caduceus asks, face inscrutable. "Huh. I suppose it could have been. Would that make you happy, Mr. Fjord?"

"I honestly can't tell if this is you negging me or trying to help," Fjord says, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't like being mocked any more than he enjoys being ignored.

Caduceus tosses his empty bottle into one of the helpfully labeled recycling cans. "I like to be helpful, when I can be. So, what would make you happy, Mr. Fjord?"

"Right now?" Fjord asks. "Being at home watching a movie, with no roommate trying to force me out to a club with bright lights, loud music, and uncomfortably insightful strangers." 

"That sounds nice," Caduceus says, which does an excellent job of taking all the wind out of Fjord's anger. He takes a step closer to Fjord, not quite into his space, but close enough to feel a little more intimate. He scratches the pink scruff on his chin, "You could go do that now, I'm sure Keg and your friend have hit it off well enough by now."

Fjord smiles, "I promised her an hour here, and by my watch I've still got another... thirty one minutes."

“I could keep you company until you’re free to go home,” Caduceus says, smiling absently. 

Fjord looks over his shoulder toward the club. “That... that would suit me fine.”

Caduceus’ smile broadens and his ears lift in a way that is far too endearing. He wordlessly drifts toward the entrance, completely unhindered on his way through, not looking back as he makes his way back toward the table Fjord had been sitting at. Fjord follows, winking at the bouncer when he gives him a lazy once over before letting Fjord back inside without issue. His table is still unoccupied apart from Beau’s cup and, shortly after, Caduceus’ arms. Once Fjord sits down, Caduceus leans closer to talk. “Have you been here many times before?”

“I believe the line is, ‘come here often?’ if I’m not mistaken. And the answer to that is no,” Fjord says. 

“Mm, well, it’s not usually like this during the week,” he says, and starts off on describing the atmosphere of the bar during off-peak hours.

Fjord is trying to listen, but the music is still very loud and he finds himself looking for anchors to the conversation in his new table partner. Caduceus’ hands are flat against the table, long fingers a few inches away from Fjord’s. His nails are short and well maintained, painted glossy green. A fine fur covers his hands, pale pink at the top and continuing up his arms and under his sleeves. Fjord drags his eyes up to try to at least look him in the eyes, but has to stop at his halfway up for a moment. The looseness of the shirt combined with Caduceus’ slouch has it hanging down his collar, providing visual access to a broad, fuzzy chest. 

Fjord wills himself to get his eyes up a bit further, not quite eye contact but close enough. If Caduceus notices his inattention, he's at least polite enough to keep it to himself. "...and that's how my sister broke my knee."

“Uh huh," Fjord says, utterly lost. "That sounds awful.”

“It only acts up when it's going to storm, so at least I always know when to close the shutters and not bother the hives.”

Fjord starts to nod when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye and has just enough time to sit up from the lean he hadn't realized he had slumped into before Beau hops into the seat next to him, the force of it making the legs scrape against the floor. "Hey, look't you," she says, her words slurring just a little.   
"You're talking to someone."

“Yeah," Fjord says, giving her a once over to make sure she isn't about to throw up on him or the table. "Beau, this is Caduceus. Caduceus, Beau.”

“Pleased to meet you." He reaches across the table for a handshake as Beau shoves her fist out for a bump, effectively punching his fingers. Beau takes no notice and Caduceus quietly shakes out his hand, smile never slipping. "Where did Keg get off to?”

“Oh shit, you know Keg? She's out getting a smoke." She rolls her head, cracking her neck as she stretches. "I think we're gonna head out when she gets back, so Fjord, you are officially relieved of duty.”

"Our place or hers?" Fjord asks, knowing that look in Beau's eye by now.

“Hers," Beau says, "so you can go mope in the apartment if you're not, you know, _busy_ somewhere else.”

Fjord frowns, "You know-"

“Would you like to come back to my house?" Caduceus asks. He looks as contentedly nonchalant as ever when Fjord and Beau turn to look at him. "I don't mind playing host if you're feeling lonely.”

“Yeah, Fjord," Beau jabs, "did you want some company tonight?”

Fjord stammers for a moment, "Ah, well, I don't-"

“It's just an offer," Caduceus says, crossing his hands on the table. "No pressure.”

Beau gives his foot a gentle kick under the table. "What's the harm?"

Aside from every single hazard associated with going home with a stranger, Fjord has to admit it doesn't feel like an awful idea. "It would be nice to have some company. The night is, as they say, still young."

Caduceus' smile widens, lifting all his features, "That's great."

Keg steps up to the table beside Caduceus, putting a hand on his shoulder—which even while he's seated requires that she reach for it. "Hey, Clay, you making moves on my new friend here?"

“No, just talking. Keg, meet Fjord. Fjord, Keg.”

“Hey, saw you earlier. Sup?”

Fjord offers a hand to shake, which she does, though not without squeezing just a little too hard. "Not much, just... you know," he says, gesturing to the bar in general.

“Neat," she says, then turns to Beau. "You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah, just a sec." Beau stands up out of her chair, claps Fjord on the shoulder, and leans in to whisper in his ear, "Text me his address and let me know if I have to come over there and beat his ass.”

Fjord laughs, but nods in understanding. Standard affair. "Have a good night, you two."

"Aye aye, captain," Beau says, walking to the bar with Keg to settle the tab.

“It's nice of her to look out for you," Caduceus says. "Would you like to see my home?”

Fjord checks his phone, it's only nine. "Sure."

Fjord's not sure what he was expecting a seven foot and change, pink haired Firbolg to drive, but it wasn't a moss green pick-up. Caduceus unlocks it as they walk through the cramped parking lot, the lights flashing once. When they reach it, Caduceus stops near the back end. "Did you want to send your friend a picture of the license plate?"

Fjord cocks an eyebrow up at him, "I'm sorry?"

“I don't want to tell you you're business," he says, "I just thought that might be standard for your kind of relationship.”

“That isn't a terrible idea," Fjord says, taking out his phone to do just that. He sees a text from Beau with Keg's address, and replied with the picture. "Where did you say you lived again?”

“228 Blooming Grove Boulevard," Caduceus recites. "Last house at the end with the gate. You can't miss it.”

Fjord dutifully records the information and passes it along to Beau. "Well, off we go then?" He asks, opening the passenger side door.

Caduceus slides into the driver's seat and starts the car. A low breeze picks up from the air conditioner, pushing past the clip-on lavender fresheners. He makes no move to turn on the radio or plug in his phone before he's backing out of the space, checking his mirrors twice for good measure.

"I wonder what sort of music you listen to, Mr. Clay," Fjord muses out loud, making an exaggerated, slow reach toward the radio dial.

Caduceus shrugs, eyes on the road, "There's one way to find out."

Fjord presses the dial. A low hiss of static comes from the stereo. “Uh.”

“Oh right,” Caduceus says, turning the dial to the right where it settles on the classical station. “There we go.”

“Not going to mention the white noise, then?”

“Keg had a cable on the way here, I forgot I was playing the white noise on the radio yesterday,” he says like it’s an explanation. He glances away from the road for a moment to read Fjord’s expression before he realizes that maybe further elucidation is needed. “Oh, why was I listening to it in the first place! I had a migraine.”

“Mhm...” Fjord says, nodding along.

“Oh. Well, the sound of the road can make it worse, so I put on the white noise.” 

Fjord hasn’t had a migraine before so he’s going to just take his word for it. “I see. So, do you normally listen to classical or are you just trying to impress me?”

Caduceus smiles, still watching the road as he makes a soft turn. “I don’t think that would impress you much,” he says. “I think you’re more a... hm, secret country man.”

“Country? Whatever gave you that impression?” Fjord asks, mostly as a cover for how spot on the assessment is.

“You’ve got a country sort of air about you. I don’t mind the occasional country tune, myself.”

“What if I told you you were wrong?”

“I’d call you a liar, probably,” Caduceus shrugs. 

Fjord laughs. “You, sir, are cheeky.”

“It’s been said before,” Caduceus says. 

“So what made your parents pick a name like Caduceus? Were they hoping you’d go to medical school?” 

“That’s a common misconception,” Caduceus says, “The thing on hospitals is an Asclepius Staff, not a Caduceus staff.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, for starters, the Asclepius only has one snake. A Caduceus has two,” he says, slowing to a stop at a red light. His headlights illuminate the street sight: Blooming Grove. “And if you see a hospital with a Caduceus staff, you might want to go to a different one.”

The houses down the road are spaced far apart, tall fences marking the yards. “Why is that?”

“Well, the Asclepius staff is from an old god of health and medicine,” he starts, pulling up to the end of the road. The house is big, huge by Fjord’s standards. The yard is well maintained and the fences entwined with flowering plants. Adjacent to the yard is a large gate, a painted metal sign above it reading: Blooming Grove Cemetery. “The Caduceus is the guide for the dead.”

Fjord’s eyes widen and he rapidly decides this was actually a bad idea. “Uh huh,” he says, still buckled. “So. You live next to a graveyard.”

Caduceus looks perplexed, “I’m fairly sure I mentioned that.”

“I may have not been paying attention,” Fjord admits, sheepishly. 

Caduceus has his door open and his seatbelt unbuckled, but he still has a hand on the keys in the ignition. “Would you like me to take you home?”

What, is he really afraid of some spooky gravestones? Well, yes, absolutely he is, but damned if he’s going to show it. “No, no that would be ridiculous. Lead the way,” he says, missing the button on the seatbelt twice before he unfastens it and pops the door open. 

Caduceus looks at him, but whatever he sees is apparently good enough for him, so he turns off the car and steps out toward the front gate of his house. The headlights stay on and illuminate up to the first steps, a series of planted electric lanterns leading from there to the door a dozen feet away. A single, huge oak grows directly behind the house, backlit by the moon. Fjord takes consciously even breaths as he walks down the path after Caduceus, keeping his eyes forward to avoid seeing the scattered rows of tombstones in the cemetery so close by. The porch is well-lit, and a wicker mat welcomes him inside a few moments before Caduceus does so verbally. “Please, come inside.”

The sirens blaring through Fjord’s head go down a few decibels once he crosses the threshold. It smells like heather, earthy and sweet. There are living plants everywhere he looks in small pots, wreathes and bouquets on the walls or set carefully on the end tables. The couch in the room just beyond the foyer is a well-loved thing, brown and a bit saggy, with a moderately sized television on a table set against the far wall. He pokes his head around the doorways as discreetly as he can manage while Caduceus leads the way, pointing out the different rooms. Living room, kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms. “This house is... rather large,” Fjord says.

“Until some years ago I shared it with most of my family,” Caduceus says. “Clarabelle, Colton... lots of us. Some moved away, some took a sabbatical. Now it’s just me.”

“This is an awfully big place to have without any company,” Fjord says, trying to imagine what it must be like to have so much empty space. Lonely is definitely an understatement. “And you keep it so well decorated.”

“People are so generous, just leaving all those flowers out there,” Caduceus says, winking when Fjord looks at him aghast. “Gravekeeper humor.”

“Right, gravekeeper. You... probably mentioned that.”

Caduceus nods, miraculously not offended. “You seem a little shaken. Could I interest you in a cup of tea?”

“Heard the accent and just assume, hm?” Fjord jokes.

“To be quite honest, I really want a cup and thought it might be rude to not at least ask. Come, take a seat.” He steps through the archway into the tiled kitchen. There’s a kettle on the stove, a huge, copper thing. Caduceus takes it to the sink and begins filling it. “Any preference on flavor?”

“What do you have?”

Caduceus flicks his head toward the pantry. “All sorts. They’re labeled by drawer in there. Grab me one of the oolongs, if you don’t mind. Any of them would be perfect.”

Fjord opens the door to what looks like an old-timey apothecary stand in place of a pantry. Five dozen drawers, each with their own names. Along the top of the rows is Oolong, Herbal, White, Black, and Green in gold painted, fanciful script. He opens the third drawer down from Oolong and takes two of the sachets. “That is... a lot of tea.”

“We’re collectors,” Caduceus says, moving the kettle to the stove. “Can I interest you in a tiny cake?”

“Excuse me?”

Caduceus opens the refrigerator to pull out a covered plate of petit fours. “They’re a day old, but they’re still good.”

“From the man who enjoys old fermented tea, I’m a little hesitant,” Fjord jokes. 

“I won’t force you,” he says, setting the plate at the table. He retrieves a pair of mugs, accepting the sachets from Fjord to drop into them and set by the kettle as it heats up. “I’ll help myself to them, though.”

Fjord takes a seat across from him at the table. The cushion is soft, though the back of the chair is set a bit too high up to be completely comfortable. He takes a napkin from the centerpiece, a carved wood sculpture with painted flowers and meandering bees. The little cubes of frosted cake do look good, the icing glistening with condensation in the warm, incandescent light. “What was the occasion?”

“My birthday,” Caduceus says, popping the pastry with a delicate blue swirl on the corner into his mouth.

Fjord looks up in surprise. “Happy birthday! Was it a good one?”

“Oh, once you’re my age, they don’t really mean much anymore,” Caduceus says around the cake. “I stopped counting after thirty.”

“So that makes you...” Fjord tries.

“Old enough,” Caduceus says. “What about you?”

“Mine was a few months back. Thirty-two now.”

“That’s a good age,” he says. He starts to say something else when he looks past Fjord to the stove. “The tea!”

Fjord watches him bustle to the stove just as it starts to whistle, wrapping a towel around the handle of the kettle to pour the steaming water into the mugs. He turns off the burner and leaves the remaining water on the stove to simmer. “That was fast,” Fjord says.

“The trick to good tea is to not let it boil. Let it brew for a few minutes. Do you take anything with your tea? Honey, lemon, cream?”

“Honey, if it’s not a bother,” Fjord answers. 

“No trouble at all,” Caduceus says. “Plenty of that.”

The tea is, quite frankly, amazing. He’s never had it, despite his accent, as carefully prepared for him as Caduceus makes it. They sip and chat, between them demolishing the entire plate of petit fours. It’s idle chatter, work and casual interests, and it doesn’t dawn on Fjord until he’s putting the empty mug down on a napkin that he’s still not sure if this is just sitting tea with a new friend or if Caduceus was hoping for a screw. The whole situation has his head spinning. “That was delicious, Caduceus.”

“Thank you, we Clays do pride ourselves on hospitality.”

“It shows,” Fjord says. He thinks for a moment on how to phrase his next question. “Would you like to, ah...”

“You said you wanted to watch a movie, right?” Caduceus says, as though Fjord weren’t floundering for the words to ask if Caduceus is down to fuck or not. “I have Netflix.”

“Yes, absolutely,” Fjord says. “Just give me a moment, please.” He heads to the bathroom, shooting Beau a text, ‘Staying late, watching movie.’

She replies a moment later with two emojis, a finger pointing to the right and a second hand making the ok sign. Fjord chooses to interpret that as her emphasizing her approval. 

He washes his hands and face, toweling off with an embroidered cloth on a silver ring by the sink. He looks at himself in the mirror, wishing he had shaved his neck or brushed his tusks more thoroughly, or something. Ah well. When he emerges, Caduceus is sitting on the couch in the living room with a remote in hand. His legs are folded beneath him, leaning against the arm rest. “Everything alright?”

“Absolutely,” Fjord says. He walks into the carpeted room, then looks down at his shoes. “Should I take these off?”

“If that would be more comfortable,” Caduceus says. 

Fjord hastily slips his shoes off at the entryway and makes his way toward the couch where Caduceus is proffering the remote control. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Caduceus says, and puts an arm over the back of the couch to gesture where Fjord should sit.

He takes the seat, keeping both feet planted on the floor and his back against the cushion a tad stiffly. There was a movie he had been thinking about seeing, an action flick, but rather than go through the trouble of using the really inefficient search function, he picks the first movie recommended and tries to relax. As the movie starts on the screen, Caduceus reaches over to the switch on the wall and dims the lights. They sit in relative silence as it begins, introducing the main character—a painfully generic human man with a white collar job that doesn’t fulfill his growing need for adventure. Caduceus laughs occasionally, a low chuckle. Fjord tries to follow along, but is more concerned with keeping his body the appropriate distance from Caduceus to be friendly without assuming intimacy. He feels like he’s eighteen again, and in no way pleased about it.

Caduceus, on the other hand, takes about five minutes to change positions; shifting his legs, letting his arm droop a little so that his hand is resting on Fjord’s far shoulder. It’s still casual, though. Nothing deliberately intimate or overtly sensual. By all accounts, he’s watching the movie. Fjord adjusts his seat, his legs objecting to the firm posture. When he tucks them up and onto the couch, he naturally has to lean. If that happens to be toward Caduceus, then it’s just because the alternative would be leaning away and pushing his feet toward him. And that would be just rude.

Caduceus is warm, and the fur on his arm is soft, and the fabric of his shirt is somehow even softer. The lights of the screen are showing something or other, but Fjord finds himself more captivated by the feel of Caduceus’ hand on his shoulder, stroking his arm. He hears the steady thumping of his heart, realizing belatedly that he has his head against Caduceus’ chest. When he looks up, Caduceus is still looking at the television. Fjord lifts his head a bit. Caduceus’ hand pauses and he looks down at Fjord curiously. Fjord clears his throat and whispers, “Hey, Caduceus.”

“Mm?”

Fjord wets his lips, focusing on the soft curve of Caduceus’ mouth. Fuck it. He leans up into a kiss. He’s worried he’s messed up, but then Caduceus’ hand comes to the back of his head, cupping his neck and stroking the short fuzz there. After a minute, Fjord pulls back. “Oh thank the gods.”

Caduceus laughs heartily. “I didn’t want to pressure you or anything.”

“Sorry, you just seemed very into the movie.”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Caduceus says, taking the remote with his free hand to turn the volume down. “I think Charles broke up with his wife?”

“You’ve got a better idea than I do,” Fjord says, all but nuzzling the hand on his neck. Nobody’s touched him like this since... well, even Sabian wasn’t big on touching. “May I...”

“You may,” Caduceus says, kissing him again. 

Fjord would be loathe to admit it, but he groans when Caduceus runs a hand down his back, a wide palm tracing down his spine, warming the skin beneath it and leaving it simultaneously cool and enflamed in its absence. At the base of his back, Caduceus slides his hand under his shirt to touch bare skin and he _moans_, loud and involuntary at the contact. 

“You’re very sensitive,” Caduceus observes, the words rumbling through Fjord’s chest by proximity. “You haven’t had much of this before, have you?”

Fjord would be offended, defensive even, but he’s busy melting under the gentle massage of fingers against his skin; he’s got to be crushing Caduceus with his not insignificant bulk. “‘M not a virgin,” Fjord mutters, scratching at Caduceus’ bearded jaw.

“I meant this,” Caduceus says, pressing his palms to Fjord’s body. “Intimacy.”

“It just feels good,” Fjord dismisses. He’s trying not to let the psychoanalysis kill his mood. “That’s all.”

“Okay,” he says. It doesn’t sound like belief as much as placation, but Fjord will take it if it means less talking and more massaging. Fjord presses their lips together again, savoring a kiss that has him pawing at his crotch between them just to relieve the pressure. Caduceus breaks the kiss to put his mouth at Fjord ear, “Let me. Here, flip over, back to chest.”

Fjord isn’t going to question it, his head buzzing in a way alcohol wishes it could achieve. It takes some maneuvering, careful avoidance of elbows and knees anywhere particularly vulnerable, but eventually Fjord is leaning against Caduceus, between his legs with his back to Caduceus’ chest. “This?”

“That’s real good,” Caduceus rumbles, hugging across his body, pulling Fjord close and resting his chin on the crook of Fjord’s neck. “You smell nice.”

Fjord closes his eyes at the fist kiss just behind his ear, holding onto Caduceus’ wrists loosely just to have something to do with his hands. “You’re too kind.”

Caduceus nips his ear then starts moving his hands, one squeezing his chest, the other moving to his crotch. Fjord groans, helping unbutton the front of his pants. Caduceus’ long fingers slip under the waistband of his underwear, brushing the sensitive crown of his cock. “You’re awfully excited,” Caduceus comments, and it shouldn’t be hot how even his voice is. He can feel Caduceus’ dick pressing against his ass, he knows the guy has got to be feeling the strain of it. “I mean, wow, you’re just soaked down here.”

Fjord gasps, trying to form a coherent sentence between Caduceus’s thumb against the slit of his cock and his fore and middle fingers playing with a rock hard nipple through his shirt. Fjord’s fingers dig into Caduceus’ wrists. He keens when Caduceus reaches deeper into his pants, stroking the entire, ridged shaft and spreading the thin precum along it. “Please.”

“What do you need?” Caduceus asks. “I could get you off like this, I think. Would you like that?”

“Yeah,” Fjord breathes, biting down on his lip, releasing Caduceus’ wrist with one hand to twist his unattended nipple almost to the point of pain just to get some control back to his sex-addled brain. “Gods, Caduceus.”

“Happy to help,” he says. Using his feet and one hand, he drags Fjord’s pants down to his knees, then pushed his underwear halfway down his thighs. The slapping of skin on skin drowns out the low humming of the television. Fjord groans, arching his back off Caduceus’s chest as Caduceus maintains a steady pace. Not hard enough to pinch the velvety skin, but rough enough that his balls are hitting his thighs on the way up and pressing against Caduceus’ fist on the way down. He feels lips on his neck and has to screw his eyes shut to not scream as orgasm snaps through his body from toe to tip. 

Fjord is gasping for breath when he comes to his senses, still electrified and enflamed and every other extreme, but with a little less blinding urgency to come. Caduceus is hugging him from behind, smiling into his neck. Fjord lets out a long sigh. “Let me, ah, let me help you now.”

“You can savor it a little longer, if you’d like,” Caduceus says. He jerks his hips against Fjord’s back, the heat of his erection insistent despite his even tone of voice.

Fjord sits up gently, taking Caduceus’ arms at the wrist to pull them away. He slinks to the floor, the boneless post-orgasm bliss making it feel a lot more fluid than it probably looks, but Caduceus isn’t commenting on it. He stirs when Fjord takes one of his thighs and pushes him into a sitting position with both feet on the floor. He dutifully lifts his hips when Fjord takes the waistband of his pants and tugs, sliding them down his legs. Fjord is smiling as he pulls them off his ankles, presses a kiss to Caduceus’ knee, the starts at the erection looking him in the face.

He had assumed, given Caduceus’ size, that he would have a dick that was proportionate. Even with his expectation, the reality is rather something else to behold. It’s got to be the length of his forearm. He gapes up at Caduceus, who is looking down bashfully, ears low. “Ah, I’ve been told it can be a little intimidating. Sorry.”

“I don’t think that’s anything to be embarrassed about,” Fjord mutters. He scoots in between Caduceus’ legs, taking his length in one hand and stroking his thigh with the other. Caduceus’ dick throbs under his touch, the man letting out a soft moan when he pushes up, watching the skin bunch at the head, then pull down slowly. He keeps his touch light, watching Caduceus’ breathing hitch at the top of each stroke, his eyes closed and his thighs tensing. The heat and musk is almost overwhelming and has Fjord’s mouth watering. He leans in, the hand on Caduceus’ thigh moving up to his stomach, pushing up the shirt to see the flat, furry belly beneath. 

The hitched breathing becomes a sharp inhale when Fjord licks over Caduceus’ balls, nuzzling his nose against the shaft. He puts a hand into Fjord’s hair, carding his fingers against his scalp. It feels great, the electric touch of dull nail against skin. Encouraged, Fjord runs his tongue against Caduceus’ dick, sucking gently where it meets his balls while running his thumb along the frenulum just under the head. Caduceus’ thighs squeeze against Fjord’s ribs, trembling as he kisses and strokes until Caduceus’ hand in his hair tightens and he speaks up, voice somehow rougher, “Wait.”

Fjord pauses, looking up. “Everything okay?”

“It’s great, more than great, but I want you up here,” he says, gesturing to his lap. Fjord quirks an eyebrow, but stands as instructed, his own dick hanging heavy and leaking between his legs. Caduceus taps his thighs, “Lose the pants and climb aboard.”

Fjord shucks his jeans and steps out of them, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor. He steps up to straddle Caduceus’ legs, leaning in to kiss him. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I think I’m a little heavy for this,” he says, slipping his arms around Caduceus’ neck.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’m stronger than I look,” Caduceus says, and hefts Fjord bodily forward with hands slipped under his thighs. Their cocks slide together and Fjord lets out a moan. Caduceus reaches between them to stroke them both. “Mm, this is nice.”

Fjord thrusts forward, getting some friction. “Let me,” he says, taking Caduceus’ hand and moving it to his chest. He rocks his hips forward, his cock slicked and hard as anything. Caduceus clenches a hand against Fjord’s chest as he starts a rhythm, bouncing in Caduceus’ lap and stealing his mouth for deep kisses. Caduceus comes hard between their stomachs, breaking the kiss to pull in a deep breath as his body shakes. Fjord slides back on his legs, touching the mess between them and laughing. “Holy hells.”

“Sorry,” Caduceus says, resting his forehead against Fjord’s shoulder. His ears are twitching. 

“Now who’s over-apologizing,” Fjord muses, stroking himself hard while burying his nose in the pink fluff of hair. He jerks when Caduceus kisses under his ear, driven to orgasm moments later. 

They sit on the couch for a few minutes, breathing and laughing as they get their bearings again. Fjord has to maneuver backward, stumbling when his knees lock up. Caduceus catches him before he can trip, holding him still before he stands himself. They both need to stand still, waiting for their legs to start working properly. Pantsless in the middle of Caduceus’ living room, Fjord has to laugh again, burying his face in Caduceus’ chest. “This was nice,” Caduceus says, playing with the shorn hair at the back of Fjord’s neck again.

“I’d love to do it again sometime,” Fjord says. “Until then, I’d be greatly obliged if I could use your shower.”

“Of course,” Caduceus says. “It’s-“

“I was paying attention that time,” Fjord says. He pats Caduceus’ cheek then picks his pants up off the floor. “I’ll just call a ride and take a shower real quick, but thanks for... well everything.”

“Please, the pleasure was all mine,” Caduceus says, collecting his own pants and starting toward his bedroom. “Take all the time you need.”

Fjord nods, pulling his phone from his pants and opening the app to catch a ride home. He rushes to rinse himself off, needing a minute to figure out the hot water in the white porcelain shower. The soap smells like oats and lavender, the shampoo smells like aloe. There are plants hanging everywhere. Luckily it isn’t too distracting and he is clean and toweled off—courtesy the obscenely fluffy towels in the closet—in less than ten minutes. 

Caduceus is waiting in the kitchen, pouring himself another cup of tea and looking cleaned up and put together. When he sees Fjord walk in, pulling his shoes on, he lifts a metal thermos and smiles, “I haven’t heard your ride yet, so if you’d like a cup to-go, you’re welcome to it.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you, but I couldn’t take your thermos,” Fjord says, shoving his heel into the shoe. 

“Oh, it’s fine. You could always bring it back to me later.”

Oh. “Uh, right, of course.”

“And here, at least take this,” Caduceus says, holding out a card with the thermos. Fjord looks at it. It states “Clay Family Memorial Services” with the business information on it. Fjord looks up. Clay laughs, “Other side.”

Fjord flips it; there’s a phone number written sloppily along the back. It’s still legible, though barely. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Caduceus says easily. “No pressure either. I had fun tonight.”

“I did, too,” Fjord says, putting the card into his wallet and accepting the thermos. A short honk draw their attention. “That’s me, then.”

Caduceus leans down to kiss him chastely on the cheek. “Have a good night, Fjord.”

“I already did,” Fjord says, heading toward the front door. “I’ll text you on the way home so you’ll have my number.”

Caduceus nods, taking a sip from his mug and waving as Fjord leaves. The night air is dark and warm, and the car is waiting for him at the end of the walkway, but Fjord still takes a moment to look back at the looming house. Still creepy, but not something he can’t get used to seeing. The driver rolls down their window, “No offense, dude, but I’d like to spend as little time here as possible.”

Fjord looks back to them and nods, letting himself into the passenger seat. “Thank you.”

They grunt in acknowledgment, but the ride back to Fjord’s house is silent, as is his retreat into the apartment he shared with Beau. The lights are all out and Fjord doesn’t bother turning them on, letting his dark vision guide him to his room where he flops down on his bed and plugs his phone in to charge. First he texts Beau a quick, “Home.”

He strips out of his shirt and tosses it into the hamper, then slides out of his pants and fishes his wallet free before he retrieves Caduceus’ card. He has to turn the bedside light on to read the number again, typing it into his contacts. The message itself takes him the better part of five minutes—typing and deleting until he settles on, “Thanks again for tonight, I had a great time. I’ll text you in the morning.”

He watches the message received alert, then sees the typing alert for a moment before the message comes through. “It was nice. Talk later. :)”

Fjord breathes a sigh of relief and turns out the light. He has to remember to thank Beau for all this tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for everyone who has left comments on my work and I’m only now replying to them! I love the comments and I love you XOXO


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